Sleep
by Diatomaceous
Summary: Explicit. Context free short from a Phantom world all my own. Maybe someday I'll submit the "context".


He fell heavy against her, begging off her gentle help even as he would have fallen to the floor.

"I just need to lie down...let me lie down," he whispered, pulling back toward the disheveled bed where he had watched over Jules for three straight days.

When he felt the welcome softness beneath him, he realized it was Christine's own fresh sheets , her own bed that cradled his weary body. Unable to even put the thoughts together to protest, he fell into a black void the likes of which men drown in.

She held him for awhile, listening to the depth of his breathing, the slowing beat of his heart as his body surrendered to weariness. Then, for the first time she touched him, cared for him as a loving wife would.

Christine had long ago prepared herself for what his body would look like. Considering the grotesque dis-alignment of his face, the strange and ethereal flexibility of his hands, it would have been a stretch of the imagination to concoct the rest of him in one's mind as a normally built man. Gently easing the rumpled shirt from his shoulders, she found her imagination was not to be disappointed.

At rest, his collarbone dipped into a sharp V that pulled his shoulders forward. She realized that for him to stand square shouldered was a battle he fought relentlessly every day. It also explained his habit of sitting with his elbows propped on the piano in front of him, hands clasped before his face as if in prayer whenever he was contemplating, writing his music. Then and when he slept were surely the only time he was at ease. If he had ever allowed himself to assume the slumping posture more comfortable to him, he would have been a hunchback as well.

This alignment had given him a deep and hollow chest, surely making it difficult for him to draw a deep breath. He was almost painfully thin, each crooked rib pressing through his flesh with every sigh of breath. He had rolled to his side when she eased his shirt from his arms, surely the most comfortable and natural position for him to sleep. His spine marched a steady curve down his back, not giving an ounce of flexibility he didn't have to brutally fight for.

Lifting him easily (he was like a reed made hollow with weariness) she drew away the rest of his garments. His spine and hip arrangement should never have allowed him to stand easily, yet she could not recall a time when she had not seen him standing tall and straight. Erik's arms and legs were veined with the efforts of the muscles to do as he required them, bruised by the punishment of merely dressing himself and keeping his posture while in a carriage or on horseback. The world thought his face was the pain he had to bear everyday. The world knew nothing of pain.

Christine bathed him ever so gently, wanting to follow the path of every strained muscle, every strange contour with her lips. Instead, she tucked herself close to him beneath the sheets and listened to the pattern of his breathing as he slept on.

He woke disoriented, unable to understand where he was. Before he could clear his mind, his body and senses seemed to react of their own accord. Erik flung an arm out and captured the warm body beside him like a caged animal snatching food from its' handlers.

Christine didn't resist as Erik's body covered hers, pressing her deeply into the mattress. He pushed her skirts up and, with a tortured groan, slid between her thighs. There was a brief moment of pain for her, then a deep, throbbing heat flared where their bodies connected as a shuddering went through Erik's emancipated frame. Christine's arms were trapped between their bodies, her hands splayed against his chest, unconsciously counting each laborious breath. She clung to him with her knees tight against his ribs.

"Go from me." His muffled voice was an agonized whisper of hot breath against her neck.

She shook her head. "No."

Another deep groan was dragged from the depths of his throat. He swelled again within her and pushed deep. A hot core of molten light flashed through all her senses, leaving sizzling meteors in its wake that thrilled her one by one as they slowly faded into cool dark.

Erik now lay full length beside her, face down and turned away. He felt the warmth of her body move away, heard the soft shuffling of quiet activity. Then there was the cool, clean feel of a silken nightdress as she came and curled against his back.

"Did I hurt you?"

She slid a slender arm under his own, hugging his shoulder against her face. "No more than any new bride…"

They never slept apart again.


End file.
